


Give to Caesar What Is Caesar's

by Marasa



Series: Neon Dream [2]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Ancient Rome, Arguing, Bratty Tyler, Emperor - Freeform, Feast, Fighting, Kingdoms, M/M, Neon - Freeform, New Technology, Period Piece, Queens, Vague dom/sub, Vaguely sadomasochistic, historical fiction - Freeform, kings - Freeform, old meets new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 11:36:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12958359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marasa/pseuds/Marasa
Summary: Once a year, the most powerful men and women of the region come together to converse peacefully and make good with one another so their kingdoms can prosper in a warless state.Tyler hates it.





	Give to Caesar What Is Caesar's

**Author's Note:**

  * For [suicider00m](https://archiveofourown.org/users/suicider00m/gifts).



The palace is in chaos.

Servants sprint through the halls with large vases, lavish bouquets and other dreadful decorations. The emperor’s half-naked guests are shoved out of the palace and down the steps into the street. There's hurried chatting and orders being hissed between servants as if Tyler can't hear them.

The Neon King yawns and rolls his shoulders as he sits on the edge of the bed soiled with last night's passion. He's already five hours late for when he was supposed to wake up.

The sun is almost set. The neon lights glow brighter.

“Do they have everything prepared or are they as incompetent as I feared?” Tyler grumbles as Josh grabs a purple, silk robe from the wardrobe.

“They're working as fast as they can, Your Majesty,” Josh says. “Tonight’s meal has just finished and the final touches are being added to the dining room.”

Tyler rolls his eyes. “Well when they're done dragging their asses, send them to clean my quarters. I'll need it spotless for later tonight.”

“Yes, sir.”

Josh stands before his naked emperor with a robe in his hands that is more expensive than anything he could ever imagine. It is, no doubt, more valuable than his pathetic existence.

Tyler glares up at him, defiant. He wishes he didn't have to do this tonight. He wishes he could just sleep for the rest of the night and maybe all day tomorrow too, but Josh is staring back at him with an immovable expression.

That look just dares Tyler to put the peasant in his place. A confusing chill runs down his spine because as much as he wants to, he would never dare.

With a bratty huff, Tyler stands from the bed.

Josh drapes the robe over his shoulders and ties it up so it doesn't fall off of him, no matter how much Tyler would love for that to happen.

“The same color of lavender, wouldn't you say?” Tyler smiles devilishly down at his servant who braids rope around his waist.

Josh says nothing.

Tyler looks at himself in the full body mirror at the very corner of the room. He turns this way and that, shoving Josh’s attentive fingers off of the material so he can pull sloppily at it.

“How do I look?”

Josh stares emotionless. “Wonderful, Your Majesty.”

“My crown, peasant. Hurry up.”

Josh does not hurry as he fetches the crown from the vanity. He comes across the room with grace and thoughtful steps, glowing neon humming in his hands.

They don't break eye contact as Josh places the crown atop Tyler’s head.

Tyler can smell him, can smell the cheap soap and the faint sweat that clings to him. It brings him to sway subtly closer. 

Josh avoids him with a mischevious glint in his dark brown eyes that glimmer in the neon light.

“Let's make nice with the world,” Tyler whispers to his servant no more than four inches away from his face.

“If anyone can do it, it's you, My King.”

Tyler can detect the insincerity and borderline mocking in his tone but he does not address it, not when it brings goosebumps to rise along his arms.

Together they walk out of the room that smells of sweat and sex and into the halls of bumbling servants. Tyler waves them away and they get out of his way fearfully.

“When will they arrive?” Tyler says as his cowering servants line the halls.

Tyler likes how Josh never cowers before him. He respects that about him. Josh is different, special.

 _Blegh-_ Tyler annoys himself with his thoughts about a stupid servant.

“Shortly,” Josh says. “They may already be here considering their anticipated arrival time was at dusk.”

Tyler sniffs boredly, bare feet slapping against the cold ground of the palace. “Let's go welcome them, then.”

Tonight is tradition. Tonight is an effort to maintain peace.

Tyler hates it.

Once a year, the most powerful men and women of the region come together to converse peacefully and make good with one another so their kingdoms can prosper in a warless state.

After many a year of long travel and being forced to sit in other kings’ and queens’ dreadfully antique palaces, the Neon Kingdom would be the setting of this year’s annual dinner of peace for the first time since Tyler took the throne and totally remodeled the palace to shine brighter than the sun.

Tyler is satisfied he doesn’t have to leave the comfort of his neon lights to waste time in a badly lit castle that smells of the last five kings that withered away in the place, no longer powerful, no longer remembered.

Then again, he's not entirely all that fond of sharing his most valueable time with anyone outside of the bedroom.

Three loud knocks resound amongst the humming of the neon pumping through every inch of the palace. Every servant other than Josh freezes up, gazes shifting to the emperor for any reaction.

That's just another thing Tyler respects about Josh, how he's so cool and collected at all times.

The emperor rids his mind of the beautiful servant as he glowers at the doors in front of him with a deadly stare.

“Open the doors.”

Two servants grab a handle of each neon-lined door and give a single nod to each before slowly pulling them open.

There they stand, the five most powerful rulers of the region gaping up at the extent of Tyler’s obsession. They’re staring so hard at the shimmering state of the palace that they almost miss the young ruler who stands in the huge doorway.

Bulgaria, France, Russia, China and Hungary- they're clad in expensive clothing unique to the event.

The oldest king's fingers twitch on his extravagant cane bejeweled with bright gems, the second youngest toys with a gold rings on his fingers.

As much as Tyler would like to think they're impressed, they look rather stiff and nervous.

Tyler forces himself to look somewhat glad to see those that so obviously look down on him for being young and ‘rash' and who look outraged by the unique tastes he seeks in  _vita._

“A bit bright, isn't it?” Jezebel, the prim and proper empress of Bulgaria says as her eyes are blinded by the blue neon light that lines the top of the door.

The other rulers nod distractedly in agreement.

Tyler grinds his teeth through a forced smile. “Perhaps not bright enough.”

Five powerful pairs of eyes are suddenly trained on him, searching for sanity, reasoning, searching for what exactly has happened in the past five years that has rendered this grand kingdom in such a shocking state.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Tyler says with his arms stretched out to his sides and his palms facing upwards. “Come in; there is peace to be made and a feast to be eaten. As is tradition...or whatever.”

Tyler’s servants usher the royalty in with great hurry, each ruler’s own two servants following closely after.

“Emperor Tyler,” Alastair, the cool and calm king of Hungary says with a hand waving through the air, “the last time I laid eyes upon this palace, it was nothing but white marble and sunlight. I had heard rumors about what has changed but this is,” he looks up, “this is more than I could ever have imagined.”

Tyler sniffs. “Last time you laid eyes on this palace, I was not emperor, so rid that heinous thought from your mind and stop dwelling in the past.”

The Hungarian king meant nothing more by his comment than a vague compliment but Tyler’s response is exceptionally bitter.

His other regal guests look at him, confused and unsure of what to make of his answer. His tone does not sound very peaceful to them and peace is the game tonight.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tyler can see Josh looking at him with an unreadable expression. It's dark, it's bright. It shines with four colors of neon and makes his knees weak.

“Let’s stop wasting time and eat."

Tyler turns and begins walking down the hall to the dining room without warning, the patter of leather footwear and the thump of the oldest king’s cane following after him.

“A tour of the palace before dinner, maybe?” Qin, the youngest sitting emperor of China at twenty-nine, says. “This new light requires...explanation.”

Tyler smirks as he strides forward down the neon spiraled hallway.

“Rest your wandering mind, Qin,” Tyler says without looking back. “Channel that curious energy to rising your appetite instead.”

They're mildly quiet for the rest of the walk, nothing but quiet murmurs of wonder and fear escaping them.

The dining room is lit in purple light that washes over every inch of the lavish room. Tyler remembers requesting purple when he was high in the bathroom, naked as his feet were being washed and his shoulders were being massaged.

‘ _Purple is royal_ ,’ he had said with bittersweet smoke rolling from this tongue. ‘ _Bathe it all in purple. Show them my power._ ’

On the long mahogany table, a most fat feast is stretched out. Neon light embedded in the wood lines the spaces between each gold plate.

The pig at the center of the table glows with yellow light and the vegetables glow blue. There are so many dead animals on the table, one would think the whole animal kingdom was represented.

Not a single light in the room is red.

Tyler also remembers requesting that his entire bedroom be red.

‘ _Dessert is best when it's red_ ,’ he had said. ‘ _Sex is best in red light. Turn my bedroom red. Show them my power._ ’

He smiles in excitement at the thought.

“Let us enjoy this feast, my friends,” Tyler says as he takes the head of the table and his guests take their assumed spots on either side of him. “Sit and let us renew our peace.”

The royalty look at each other with caution but know that if they are not to abide by the rules of whose house they are in, peace can never be achieved.

They nod. They sit. They prepare themselves to indulge in the fattest feast they have had in five years.

Josh pours Tyler a glass of wine as the other servants serve each of them a full plate of flesh and abundance.

It’s tense for the first few moments, as Tyler’s kingdom is a lot to take in, but it only takes a full glass of wine and a few bites of food for them to find their tongues and talk freely and friendly.

They speak of how their individual kingdoms are, how the harvests are. Each pair of their servants present Tyler gifts from the most talented artists to show the wealth of their intellect and creativity.

Beautiful paintings, sculptures, poetry and drawings- Tyler does not hide how unimpressed he is as he waves the pieces away for his servants to add them to the pile of junk used as fuel for the great bonfire that is held every full moon.

Only a couple more days and he can actually get use out of that dreadful art, watching it all burn and turn to ash.

They speak of peace, of how they will better cooperate.

Gregory, the beautiful French king with dark hair and fair skin, admits that some of the trade from the Bulgarian kingdom is too expensive to continue this way and Jezebel agrees to lighten up on the cost if he agrees to send some of his best spices her way.

They're getting along well. They're making peace. Tyler stays absolutely quiet because he has nothing to contribute to this chummy conversation.

Not until they speak of opium.

Alastair sucks at a long pipe painted with bright blue paint in between mouthfuls of pork as he muses over his growing suspicion that a lack of opium after a long diet of the plant renders the body sick.

“What is this sickness you speak of?” Tyler inquires.

His hands are folded in his lap as Josh cuts the piece of goat on his emperor’s plate.

Tyler opens his mouth. Josh deposits the wet meat onto his tongue. The Neon King bites down on the fork as it's dragged from between his teeth.

“A sickness stemming from dependency,” the Hungarian king says. “An altering of the body’s chemistry. Perhaps the brain. The blood, surely. Headaches, chills, irritability- much like a winter sickness.”

Tyler rolls his eyes.

“Someone else speak,” he orders, “before Alastair proves himself to be any more stupid.”

His comment sends a brief wave of tense awkwardness through the room.

When no one else speaks, Tyler speaks for them.

“I anticipate each of you to join me in my bed chambers after our meal.”

Tyler avoids the piece of meat Josh tries to feed him with the fork until he finally takes it from the gold prongs and feeds the emperor with his fingers.

Tyler licks between Josh’s fingers slyly.

“Let us forego the fruits picked from the orchard,” Tyler says, a devilish smile playing upon his lips, “and let us, instead, indulge in the fruits of our bodies.”

Their reactions are divided. Viktor, the Russian king, is old and tired, but Qin looks to be semi-curious as he raises an eyebrow.

“This is inappropriate,” the Empress suddenly says, sounding offended. “Completely disrespectful and not at all helpful for what we’re trying to do here!”

Newly converted Buddhist, she is strict in her celibacy. Too bad, Tyler thinks.

“I refuse to attend your orgy,” the Bulgarian Empress says curtly.

Tyler smiles, shuts his eyes. A pause.

Then, he slams his hands on the table so hard that everything on the mahogany trembles, even the light.

“Worry _not_ , Empress Jezebel, for you are not _invited_.”

The glare the empress gives him suggests that trade embargoes will most likely be placed on his neon kingdom soon enough.

Peace will be maintained, sure, but that doesn't mean they can’t put pressure on one another. That’s centuries old.

The silences in between each fake laugh and forced compliment is evidence of something harsh left unsaid. 

Tyler guesses embargoes are just one sacrifice that will need to be made.

“Will anyone else object to their host’s planned activities?” Tyler says as he looks up and down the table.

The party is quiet. They avoid eye contact. The air has suddenly shifted to something mildly dangerous.

It only fuels Tyler’s increase of volume.

“Will anyone else speak against the emperor whose very house you are in?!”

No one answers.

The disrespect sits badly with him. He feels embarrassed at their insubordination, forgetting the fact that they are just as powerful as him.

As long as they are in his presence, they should bow.

Peace is forgotten as Tyler takes his plate of food and launches it at the wall with a frustrated yell.

The emperors and empress and all their servants gasp quietly and stare with wide eyes.

Josh is the only one at the table unaffected.

Tyler respects him.

Tyler hates that he respects him.

When no one gives him the reaction he wants, he grabs his glass of wine too and launches it through the air. It shatters against the neon wall and drips like a massacre.

“Stop this!”

Tyler whips his head toward the voice.

The Emperor of France glares up at him.

“You have been insufferable all night, the worst host we have ever had the misfortune of sitting here and pretending to tolerate,” Gregory says. “Your infamy precedes you but here we are, trying to be amiable for the sake of maintaining peace, something you seem so ready to throw away!”

Gregory narrows his eyes. “We have worked _too_  hard for this and now you behave as though you have sufficient armies, Tyler.”

“I have more than sufficient armies,” Tyler growls. “My soldiers are harvested from prisons. Murderers and monsters make up the front lines. I have yet to put them to good use, for they are wasting their great potential in the absence of war. Would you care to indulge me in seeing just how lethal they are, Gregory?”

Gregory raises an eyebrow, leans forward. “Are you threatening war?”

“Are you threatening _me_?” Tyler barks back.

None of them say anything even though their eyes speak volumes.

Tyler sits up straight again, looks up and down the table at all of them.

“Now none of you are invited to my bed chambers,” he says. “I hope you're all happy. Send your men and women in your place. I will lay with the servants tonight; apparently they are more worthy than their kings and queens to lay in my bed.”

In the tense silence, a strong hand snakes down the back of the chair to the emperor’s shoulder. It's heavy, suggestive, intimate. The grip feels so good, Tyler wishes it were wrapped around his dick instead.

He follows the strong arm up to his servant with dark brown curls and defined muscle. Tyler keeps eye contact with Josh as he growls.

“Not. You.”

Josh stares him down but releases his shoulder. Tyler can't help the shiver that rolls through him at his dark gaze.

Gregory doesn't say anything more, simply throws back the remainder of his wine and gestures for his servant to supply him with more.

“This is juvenile,” Viktor grumbles from the occupied seat farthest from Tyler.

The emperor perks up at the sound of the gravelly voice that has yet to speak tonight.

Viktor.

The Russian king and Tyler’s relationship had always been bitter. It didn't matter that Viktor had led the kingdom that had created the neon light- that was where the problems stemmed from.

He had something above Tyler. He knew how to achieve what Tyler wish he could. The old man offered no ill will but that was all the young emperor could supply.

“Now the old man speaks,” Tyler laughs mockingly because in his mind, this old man surely believes himself to be Tyler’s god.

He supplied him with neon. He created Tyler.

The Neon King becomes even more infuriated as paranoia runs rampant in the deepest grooves of his mind.

“ _Because_ of my old age, I will speak and you will listen,” Viktor says with decades of refined authority.

Tyler narrows his eyes. “Oh?”

It's a challenge, but Tyler ends up keeping quiet. He’s waiting for the old king to say something stupid so he can cut him down using his own words.

“Before you became Emperor of Rome, I consulted an oracle.” His deep voice trembles with age. His long, white beard wavers. “I wanted to know who this new ruler of The Holy Roman Empire would be. I asked her, ‘ _Who is he? What is his heart_?’”

The Russian king recalls easily. “She said, ‘ _The new ruler will be bathed in all the suns of the galaxy. He will wear sunlight, moonlight, a new light. He will unite us all.'”_

Tyler’s expression softens.

Here, at the head of the table with a bright neon crown atop his head, he almost looks like a child playing dress up.

His shoulders are slouched, his face drifts to an expression of relaxation. He's listening to the story of himself and he seems stupidly hopeful, as if maybe the story will end with a grand party where everyone sings his praises.

He looks hopeful that at the end of this story, he will be loved by the world.

“I now see that her prophecy was true,” Viktor says.

A genuine smile twitches at Tyler’s face.

“Your reign of terror will unite all of us-” Viktor points a crooked finger at the Neon King, “ _against you_.”

Silence.

Tyler’s scowl creeps back upon his face. His momentary innocence is forgotten. The hopefulness too.

The ruler’s eye twitches.

Josh watches him cautiously, fingers twitching where they rest on the back of his chair, fingertips subtly touching his shoulder.

“Hm,” Tyler smiles sarcastically, “and you speak for everyone, old man?”

No one else speaks. All that's needed to be said has been said.

“Well,” Tyler says, “if that is how it is, then so be it. But may I remind you that as long as we sit here together, there is to be peace. There is always time for war after dinner.”

There is no hope for peace, but they can pretend for the time being.

Tyler stares forward. “I do not wish to hear any talk from any of you for the rest of the night. It's obvious none of you have anything worth saying. We will listen to music as we finish our plates.”

He turns to Josh. “Bring in the minstrels.”

The minstrels come in as Josh commands it with a powerful wave of his hand. There are four of them, all holding modified guitars in their hands that hang heavier than wood over their shoulders.

Pink, yellow, green, blue- their instruments glow with brighter neon than the walls behind them.

The guests look at them cautiously as they find a place by the wall at the end of the table. The musicians pick up black snakes of wire from the black boxes at their feet and expertly insert metal pieces into the bottoms of their instruments.

The whole palace seems to hum suddenly.

The electricity in the walls funnels directly into their guitars. A dirty, electrical whining crawls from the boxes they're hooked up to.

“Viktor,” Tyler smiles devilishly, “you like to act as though you are a god because you have somehow learned to create neon. Well,” the sound grows louder, “I have created a new sound.”

The old king gapes at him fearfully as screaming guitar rips brutally through the air.

It's shocking, violent, offensive. It is everything Tyler represents and he can't help but smile and cackle as the minstrels shout unintelligible lyrics through waves of metal screeching.

Josh’s hand finds his shoulder. Tyler can't help but laugh and lean his head ever so slightly against his servant’s forearm.

The other servants rush out of the room as though they are being attacked, hands flailing or covering their ears from the sound.

The appetites of the men and women at the table are gone. Nothing but shock and the beginnings of beautiful fury shine in their eyes illuminated with neon light.

Josh grabs his emperor a new crystal glass and pours him blood red wine that glitters with the abundance of neon shining around them.

The Neon King stands from his seat and raises it in one final toast of the night.

“To the end of peace,” Tyler smiles, “and to the beginnings of war!”

The guitars scream.

The neon lights are just as loud.


End file.
